Rolls of Sushi
by Carlis.B
Summary: A collection of kink meme stuff, grouped so as not to cloud the site and for some nice tea-and biscuits reading. xD Characters and pairings differ, but most probably would contain Klavier, Apollo, or Kristoph.
1. Srsbznz : Stealing Thunder : Dar,Kla

So here we go. Collecting my stuff so they won't be scattered, and I can go back and laugh at myself once in a while. Hope you enjoy! Hate my guts? Think I should find a cliff to disappear off for de-anoning? There's the review button! Love, your ever spamming Author.

* * *

**Prompt** : It wasn't for the chief justice's son...

It was for Klavier.

Run with it, pleaaaaaaase?  
Bonus points for either K/A or Daryan/Klavier.

* * *

_Stealing Thunder_

The man's been in the lobby for many hours now, and he doesn't look like he's moving any time soon. The man's been sitting there, all alone, while the clinic empties of patients and the chairs empty of patience. He just sits, crossing his arms and staring at this blank spot on the wall and showing no expression other than to flick a casual eye onto a medical guy walking pass sometimes. He's like a gargoyle, or some sentry beast that is stagnant, and only the eyes move. Back and forth, back and forth. Daryan Crescend is as stagnant as the plastic chairs he sits on.

Sighing, Doctor White let go of the clinic's green curtains and they fall back into place to block out the tiny medical window. He's not leaving, is he? White's told him countless time today, and he's told him countless time last week when he came and sat all Sunday afternoon too. White's a doctor. He's not a paperboy.

His secrets are not his to keep, nor his to spread around. If White's some kind of tiny ghetto clinic doctor, fine – he'll give him what he wants and give him what he wants quickly. But he's not, dammit, he's a doctor – and the kind of stuff Daryan Crescend asks for, information on other patients...That's just confidential, no matter what.

Sighing again, he walked out of his room, feeling infinitely dirtier than his name. Daryan perks up the moment he sees him, and even though the man's shoulders must hurt like bullshit, sitting there in those damned uncomfortable chairs all day long, he still manages to get up and grin at him.

"Heya, doc."

"You're still here?" White demanded, as though he hadn't been keeping an eye out on the Elvis impressionist all day long. Behind the counter, Alissa snorted.

"He's gathering dust faster than my vacuum he is, White.'

White looked Daryan up and down rudely. "What, that's the new 'in' thing amongst you rock stars? Dust's the way to look now?"

A look of irritation flickers across the man's face, but his expression doesn't waver, nor does it disintegrate into annoyance. White had no doubt that if this is a month ago, Daryan would be shouting his head off in the lobby itself, damn press and damn other people. He sure had done so in the clinic, demanding that White hand over the report at the top of his formidable lungs. That's changed since then though – and White's learn to see what kind of expression this is.

This is the kind of face you see on relatives of a dying person. Something of a parody of the dying person's expression, but to a lesser degree. There's that deep seated worry in the eyes, making it sink and go lower. The lines under the eyes become a little more pronounced, a little harder. The corners of the mouth turn the slightest bit down reluctantly, as though two heavy worries had hanged themselves onto the edges of the person's mouth and had proceeded to play see-saw on it.

_See, see! Saw, saw! Heigh-ho! Bon voyage, happy days! Weigh anchor – heave-ho!_

A competition of grimacing.

Daryan folded his arms and glared at him. "You know full well why I've been waiting here like a fool all day long."

"If you're gonna ask me out on a date, I'm sorry Crescend – but I don't swing that way."

"I rather date an exploded treacle pudding," He growled.

"Glad to see we're on the same page then. Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Crescend..."

"Not so fast."

Daryan darted in front of the doctor, neatly blocking his escape path. White scowled at him, then beyond his shoulder at where freedom and cool night air awaits. He's been working all day now, and he really doesn't need this sort of bullshit for his final act.

"What do you want, Crescend?"

"You know full well what I want. Tell me what's wrong with him – tell me what's wrong with Klavier, dammit."

"And you know full well that I can't do that," White snapped back. "That's violating the patient-doctor confidentiality, and seeing as your friend is a prosecutor – I think I'll take my chances with you."

Daryan's fist, clasped beside him, starting shaking violently. He glared at White like he wanted to let swing like a pro Japanese baseball batter, or at least the kind they keep showing on anime where the balls fly across the stadium like weiners on wings. If it wasn't that he'll get into trouble, or that White will just go in and patch himself right back up, the good doctor would probably be flat on his back with a broken hip or two.

"Look. Why do you have to be so difficult? All I'm asking for is one name. One word. What's so hard about that?"

"Rules, hot-shot. I saw your face all over TV with your new album. Don't you think you guys should study a little on the thing call 'rules' before promoting it?"

"This is beyond rules," Daryan hissed back. "This is Klavier, okay? Rules can go jump and fuck themselves on a starfruit for all I care."

"Why do you care so much?" White shot back. "It's just a small disease – nothing special."

"It's not a small disease." He snapped.

"Why so sure?"

"I just am."

"It's minor."

"It's not."

Then some invisible string, strained to breaking point, breaks at that very moment. Snippity-snip, someone's taken a scissors to it – and White doesn't know how long the guy's been keeping his steam under a lid, but the lid had melted off right there in front of him – yessir, it did.

"Why am I so sure? _Why am I so sure?_" Daryan hissed. "That's the wrong question, doc. The right question is why _wouldn't_ I be sure?"

He took a step forward.

"Why wouldn't I be sure, when we group together to practice for the band, and every time he shows up, he gets a little bit thinner? Gets a little bit more transparent? His skin is all stretched, like some kind of damned rubber over a ball. Who wouldn't see that? When you look at him under the light, it's like you're looking through him, not at him. Why do you think he keeps wearing those glasses, doc? Because you can't see his eyes!"

"They're all whitening out! When you look at him, all the sparkle's gone, all the sputzah! Those eyes are like fucking fish you see in the market. They've got no life, they've got no shine. Klavier, he used to come in and you'll think 'Gee, this guy is like a kid', cuz you know why?"

White shook his head.

"Because there's life in there! Because when you look at him, and he smiles at you, there's something in there! Hope, joy, whatever! He can be stone drunk and there would still be a glint there, some kind of mischievous twinkle that tells you he's up to a prank. His eyes are always laughing, laughing at something no one else knows, some kind of personal joke of his own that makes Klavier Gavin – a joie de vivre about him. You look at him, and you just can't stop smiling, because goddammit all – who gives a piss about your shit? When you look at that smile, you just gotta grin back at him."

"I...I'm sorry," White mumbled. He suddenly wants to just get out of here. Doesn't want to hear this kind of heartbreaking one-sided sermon, because it's more than he wants to know. Keep your sorrows to yourself, don't depress me – that sort of principle.

But Daryan isn't done yet.

"And you know what? Now that he's down with whatever he has – whatever bastard thing he's got that he's not telling us, it's like the damned thing is eating him from inside. Klavier just keeps pretending there's nothing wrong with him, that nothing's wrong with life. But every time he looks at us, it's like he's saying goodbye. Au Revoir. Sayonara. That sort of epically bullshitting bullshit."

"And he thinks we don't know that he cuts our band practices into three two-hour segments instead of one six-hour segment because he can't take it, that when he works too hard, the next day he can't show up at work."

"...And whenever some detective asks for him to join them on the field, he just smirks and say no way, he's too lazy – when in fact, he never fails to show up before. Now he just doesn't want to move, just staying there, like some kind of damned battery charging up for one final burst of movement – So tell me, dammit!"

Daryan reached forwards, and digging all ten fingers into White's shoulders, starting shaking him."Tell me what he's got –it can't be so bad! Tell me what he's got so that I can--"

"...That's enough, Daryan."

White looked up – and recognizes immediately who's standing at the doorway to the lobby. All six feet or so of maroon coat, it's the prosecutor, the star of The Gavinners alright. And incidentally, the reason why Daryan is shaking him like that now. Not that he did anymore. The moment he saw Klavier, those hands had lost their grip on his arm, loosening like uncoiled screws. They drop now, drop down loosely and falters while their owner falter too.

"...Klavier?"

Klavier looked at White and grinned. "Sorry about that, doc. He's just an excitable kid, is all." Daryan started growling at this, but Klavier ignored him, instead, waving dismissively at White. "Sorry if he bothers you, doc. I know you're a busy man – I'll take him off your hands now."

The doctor nodded, and before Daryan could make another grab for him, he slipped backwards and into the darkened hallway, leaving Daryan alone with Klavier.

Daryan was left standing in the middle of the lobby. He kinds of wish that the doctor is still around, so that he might act as a buffer between them and a shield to keep Klavier off. To shy off the unwanted awkwardness – and to stop Klavier from knowing that he, Daryan Crescend, the local smart mouth and the asshole of the band, had actually come down to the hospital like some sort of sappy lovesick fool to dig out information on Klavier. Doesn't want Klavier to know that he's worse than those paparazzi. That God forbid – he was worried about him or something.

"I wasn't worried about you." Daryan blurted out. Then immediately bit his tongue. Well, that came out wrong.

Klavier took no offense though, quirking a little smile at him – those kind that Daryan hasn't seen for a long long time now. The slight, unworried smile.

"Ja, that will explain why you came down here in the middle of the night, when there is so much more you can do, and pester doctors, ja?"

'I couldn't sleep." He protested, aware how ridiculous he was sounding even to himself.

"So you amused yourself by coming down to the hospital. Very good, Daryan – I see I do not need to worry about your mental health."

Daryan gnashed his teeth. That's how Klavier always acts in moments of uncertainty – be the most sarcastic bastard you care to name and not to meet. "You don't have to be such an asshole over it." He snapped. "I was just—A little...Concerned. That's all."

Klavier still looked highly amused, and Daryan's target suddenly went from White to him. Sometimes he just wish he can take a good old rug and scrub and scrub and _scrub_ that man's arrogant expression off his face.

'Worried. You are worried about me?"

"I didn't say I was worried about you!" Daryan yelled. "Don't twist my words!"

"Ach! You just said you were concerned about me!"

"Concern is concern – worry is—Argh! Forget it! I'm not worried about you, period! You can fall yourself into a hole, and I wouldn't lend a finger to help you out!"

Klavier smiled at him, twisting one indolent finger around his hair. Daryan just stewed, torn between wanting to go back in and pound the doctor out for more information, or digging a very deep, very big hole for himself to jump into and hide forever in embarrassment. Caught red-handed being a worrywart – how uncool is that?

Klavier only smiled though, and it's not a censorious sort of smile that people make at you when they're patronizing you inside. It's just a..Smile. Why is something so simple so complicated?

At last, Klavier spoke out quietly. 'Why didn't you just ask me?"

"Why should I?" Daryan shot back.

"Don't play that game with me, Daryan. Why didn't you just come right up to me and ask? You know I hate all these sneaky stuff."

Daryan's face is stony. "I didn't think you'll tell."

"Is that so?"

"That so."

Klavier stepped towards him. One tiny hesitant step, followed by another, then another – and then he's right in front of him. He smoothed one calloused hand over Daryan's jaw, still smiling that little smile of his – and Daryan hates that look in his eyes too. It's that look that says everything is hopeless, which is hypocritical – because wasn't he the one who had always preach on impossibilities? The one out for some sort of so call 'truth' in a crazed justice mission?

"Give a name, Klavier." He hissed out brokenly. "Just give me a name and I'll--"

"_Incuritis._"

The word hung in the air like doom. Incuritis. Incuritis?_ Incuritis. _  
Yes, he hadn't heard it wrongly. Incuritis.

Incuritis, incuritis, incuritis.

The word pounded into Daryan's head like a sledgehammer. Shock? What's that sound? Did someone blow a building up in the distance? Or was that his heart?

"I—Incuritis?"

"Incuritis," Klavier repeated again firmly – and he has that look in his eye too. The don't-gimme-bullshit look. The look that says he's not gonna take any sappy stuff and he's just gonna leave you behind if you can't move as fast as he does. "That's what I got, Daryan. And just the name itself must tell you what it can be cure with, ja?"

He smoothed a ringed finger across the line of Daryan's jaw, like he's admiring some bloody work of Picasso or shit. "There's nothing. Nothing you can do, Daryan. Absolutely nothing."

Wow. Thanks for playing, buddy. Why don't you go back to the end of the line and NEVER PLAY AGAIN?

"That's impossible." Daryan snapped. "That's impossible – completely impossible. Why would you get that? I mean, you drink a little, but none of that drug and smoke shit."

"If they figured it out, they wouldn't call it incuritis now, would they?"

"There's got to be a cure," He insisted again. His mind races through every single thing he's seen about it in the past years, racking through everything the way he never knew his brain could. Is there a cure? No article ever mentioned one. But there was one? Was there? He doesn't know – but this is the era of technology. Surely humans, who can move across the heavens and the sky – surely these people can come up with a cure for one paltry disease named by some unimaginative medical community?

Incuritis. What kind of shit of a name is that? That's like naming your son You're Gonna Die, Baby.

"No, no – there's got to be a cure. Maybe those experimental shit they're always yapping about. We can get some experts. God knows we got enough money to make a pyramid for them if they just provide us with a --"

"There's no cure, Daryan."

That interrupted Daryan's flow, and it made him gagged on the unsaid words. Unsaid words being that there must be one. Impossible that there isn't one. Got to be one. Impossible. That's absolutely impossible, to be told that Klavier not only got some kind of drastic problem, but one without a cure at that.

He was expecting something horrible, like maybe Cancer – but Cancer can be cured. There are cases where Cancer patients survive. Maybe not a large majority, but certainly a large majority of rich bitches who can pay their way out of hospital and medication.

Even AIDS can be salvaged, but Incuritis is just...

"There's no cure, Daryan," Klavier repeated again, shaking him slightly just to clear the daze out of Daryan's brain. "Daryan, do you hear me? I'll say it again, okay? There's no cure, Daryan – and there never will be. I'm going to die."

"Don't say that," Daryan snapped. "You don't know that."

"Ja, I do." The man repeated stubbornly. "I do – because there is no cure. It's not even Emo crap. It's the truth. Come hell and boiling water, I'm gonna go."

"You don't know that." He insisted. "There's got to be a cure that will just--"

"--Do not exist."

Daryan stopped.

Quiet, as Daryan swallows the fact the way someone would swallow flaming tea. Klavier too, because even as he said the words, it becomes a little more real. A little more damning that just a few words on a few pieces of paper. It's the truth Klavier so loves, so loves to spout and hunt and prosecute. It's the truth, the truth, nothing but the truth, and even though they are rich and young and full of hope – there's nothing you can do to turn truth away when the cruel mistress comes a-calling.

Still with the same revealing quietness, Klavier slipped both arms around Daryan and leaned into him, placing his cheek on his heart. Listening to something that, as morbid as it sounds, he wouldn't be having this time next year.

"...Let's just spend every moment we have together...Ja?"

"But Klavier..."

"Okay?"

"...Okay."

Daryan curled his own arms around Klavier and rested his head on the tangled mass of blond mane. He felt like crying, even though he hated whiny saps. He wanted a pillow, and to bury his head into it and slam it and strangle it and ask the cotton - _why?_

Why did this have to happen to him – to Klavier – to _them_? Why of all the billion people out there – and this might sound selfish but it's the truth – why couldn't it have happened to someone else? Why not some stupid African kid he'll never hear of, never feel for? Why Klavier? Why does it have to hit, and hit him of all people?

Unheard, Klavier rubbed his face on him softly, nuzzling Daryan's jacket. Then he raised his head and smiled lazily at him. "Achtung, Daryan."

Daryan looked down at those soft blue eyes – known to flash cold and warm in split seconds – or like now, completely watery and mesmerizing. "What?"

"Let's go."

"...Okay."

Then Klavier untangled himself and dragged the dreaming Daryan off with him. Out of the hospital, out into the cold air, and simply out. He would laugh with Klavier that day. Pretend that the end is nothing to be scared about. He never did cry either – that would come later. But it was at that moment that Daryan had decided, no matter what he had to do, he'll find some cure for the disease. He'll be the first man to finish off this so-called unbeatable disease, this 'Incuritis.'

And if he had to steal the Gods' thunder itself, he'll do it too.


	2. Crack : HORN ATTACK FAIL : Ensemble

Crackfic for prompt : Apollo kills Klavier with knife. Don't ask me why. I'm just crazy. Crazy like Kristoph.

A mess, due to FF not allowing double spaces. Sorry folks, for a headache.

* * *

The following is a comment log on the new war game : Unicorn Wars, spawned from the ever-popular Robot Unicorn Attack game in the late 'tens.

**[ChordsofSteel_15 LOGGED ON]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : I can't believe u guys started without me.  
Achtung-seeking : Herrr Forehead 3  
Achtung-seeking : EVERYBOYD HERR FOREHEAD IS HERE.  
PapaBean_92 : ABT TIME. WAT WERE U DOING?  
ChordsofSteel_15 : Sry

**[glassking LOGGED ON]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : MR. G was being an EHSOBEE abt my work  
glassking : Really? ^^

ChordsofSteel_15 : yea i dunno wats his prob. i just went to work today n he was like 'justice, my office pls' :)  
glassking : Maybe he knows you're badmouthing him online? ^^

ChordsofSteel_15 : LOL. NO WAY. Like he noez how to play  
ChordsofSteel_15 : total nerd ftw  
glassking : 8)

**[A {Fairy} attacked you.]  
[Lost 25 hp]  
[Defend!used]  
[Lost 25 hp]**

Achtung-seeking : STOP TALKING  
PapaBean_92 : FUG FAIRIES ARE HERE  
ChordsofSteel_15 : YES SPAWN TIME  
glassking : 8-)

**[A {Fairy} attacked you.]  
[HORN ATTACK used]  
[You inflicted 59 damage]  
[HORN ATTACK used]  
[You inflicted 59 damage]  
[HORN ATTACK used]  
[HORN ATTACK failed]  
[Lost 25 hp]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : FUCK NOT WORKIGN  
PapaBean_92 : ??????  
ChordsofSteel_15 : HORN NT WORKING  
ChordsofSteel_15 : HELP

**[HORN ATTACK used]  
[Obstacle is in your way]  
[HORN ATTACK failed]**

PapaBean_92 : I THINK IT'S CUZ  
PapaBean_92 : ACH IS IN FRONT OF U  
glassking : Stop typing in short forms, Bean.  
glassking : CoS : Move him aside then. Your choices, it is simple. Tell him, (intelligently, mind you, not like this moron here) to move aside, and then the attack will have effe

**[glassking have been defeated]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : ?????

**[Your party member has respawned!]**

glassking : ...  
PapaBean_92 : LMAO. He gt pwned while typing  
glassking : Grrrr...Right whatever. NOOBS.  
glassking : COS, tell ACH to get out of your way. won't work with him there.

Achtung-seeking : But then I can't protect him, ja?  
ChordsofSteel_15 : It wn't work with him there?  
Glassking : Yes.

ChordsofSteel_15 : okok Klavier, gt out of my way spawn somewhere else  
Achtung-seeking : NEIN  
ChordsofSteel_15 : Klavier, go away

ChordsofSteel_15 : bean make him go away!!!!!11

**[PapaBean_92 used Teleport on Achtung-seeking]  
[Your party member Teleport away!]**

Achtung-seeking : NEINNEINNEIN I WANNA PROTECT MEIN FOREHEAD 3

**[Your partner has warped to your location]  
[A {gold fairy} appears!]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : go away-- OMG RARE SPAWN  
PapaBean_92 : YES

**[HORN ATTACK used]  
[Obstacle is in your way]  
[HORN ATTACK failed]  
[HORN ATTACK used]  
[Obstacle is in your way]  
[HORN ATTACK failed]  
[HORN ATTACK used]  
[Lost 25 hp]  
[Obstacle is in your way]  
[HORN ATTACK failed]**

PapaBean_92 : ????????  
Achtung-seeking : MEIN FOREHEAD, NEVER FEAR, I'LL PROTECT YOU~  
ChordsofSteel_15 : WTF KLAVIER FK OFF  
Achtung-seeking : nein~ if they want to kill ur unicorn they must go through me first~

**[Lost 25 hp]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : SHIT

**[HORN ATTACK used]  
[Obstacle is in your way]**

Achtung-seeking : HALT! EVIL FAIRIES! I, KLAVIER WILL NVR ALLOW YOU TO HARM MEIN FOREHEAD~~

**[HORN ATTACK failed]  
[Lost 25 hp]  
[HORN ATTACK used]  
[Obstacle is in your way]  
[HORN ATTACK failed]  
[Lost 25 hp]  
[Lost 25 hp]  
[Lost 25 hp]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GET OUT OF MY  
Achtung-seeking : AND OUR LOVE WILL RESOUND FOREVER MORE~

**[ChordsofSteel_15 have been defeated]  
[You respawned! -17890 Horny Points]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : WTF WTF WTF WTF  
ChordsofSteel_15 : MY RARE SPAWN  
Achtung-seeking : O_O"  
Achtung-seeking : Where did Forehead go?

**[Achtung-seeking is using SCOUT]**

glassking : I told you it's a bad idea for Klavier to be around...  
PapaBean_92 : YES  
PapaBean_92 : TAKE THAT  
PapaBean_92 : BEAT IT  
glassking : Loot?  
glassking : I hope it was worth the time.  
PapaBean_92 : HAHAHAHAHA it's the golden feather tutu 3

**[PapaBean_92 equipped {golden feather tutu}]**

glassking : AHH  
PapaBean_92 : ?  
glassking : N-No-- Take that off.  
PapaBean_92 : ? Y? The states are gd.  
Glassking : Your unicorn looks like a Tres Bein chef!  
PapaBean_92 : O_O  
PapaBean_92 : LOL  
PapaBean_92 : u mean like sexy?  
Glassking : I mean utterly and completely homosexual! Take it off!  
PapaBean_92 : Take it off me then 3  
PapaBean_92 : LOL

**[Your partner has warped to your location]**

Achtung-seeking : omg mein forehead 333333333  
Achtung-seeking : r u okay~

**[Achtung-seeking used {Glitter} on you]  
[Achtung-seeking used {Glitter} on you]**

ChordsofSteel_15 : ...  
ChordsofSteel_15 : Bean?  
PapaBean_92 : ??  
ChordsofSteel_15 : wat r the stats for the loot?  
PapaBean_92 : +300 horny attack pts

ChordsofSteel_15 : .............................................  
ChordsofSteel_15 : ...............................................  
ChordsofSteel_15 : ..............................................

Achtung-seeking : Herr Forehead~?

**[PK SYSTEM = ON]  
[HORN ATTACK used]  
[Achtung-seeking have been defeated]**


	3. Parody : Plastic Soul : Klavier

**Actual Prompt :**

_(Anonymous)_ 2009-12-16 05:17 pm UTC

There's a lot of talk (and fic-writing) to the effect that Klavier was far too unconcerned about his buddy and his brother being criminals. Most of it involves showing how concerned he _really_ was.

Well, I want to see him being completely unaffected, not because justice was done and he's fine with it, but because in his own (much less violent) way he's just as creepy as his brother. He's totally hollow inside. He just doesn't care. Maybe he doesn't even get why people expect him to.

Maybe someone tries to pursue a romance or closer friendship with him, only to find to their horror that there's no _there_ there? Maybe someone who has to work with him (Emaaaaaa) is appalled at his non-response to yet another horrible crime? (Actually, this is probably the _real_ reason she can't stand him.) Maybe, I don't know, something else? I'm just looking for some creepy Stepford-Smiler!Klavier, in whatever form he may take.

A/N : This obviously contains an OOC Klavier, since that was basically what was requested. An evil, Kristoph-like Klavier, yeah. Was fun to write. xD

* * *

_Plastic Soul_

Kristoph Gavin is imprisoned, and many people care about it. There are people who had known him, those are greatly griefed. Confronted by reporters, those have few words to say about the man who had left the courtroom in the end. They prefer to enshrine the man in their little fantasy world, where Kristoph Gavin was kind, is kind, and will never be anything but kind. A few step forth, and these are verbal in their defense – and they do a far more adequate job than Justice ever did in defending his mentor.

Then there are those who say a lot, and who have many things to say to the reporters. What a poor, sad man, they lament. They shake their head, and they offer a very sad, very sentimental smile. These never knew Kristoph Gavin at all, and they had to consult their secretary before being able to recite this : It's such a poor, sad thing that such a thing happened to him. Never imagined, of course. He was a capital sort of chap, a one-up sort of man. Good for golf at weekends, and if he doesn't play, at least he makes for amusing conversation. Amidst all of this, some comments stand out, united in who they affront – Klavier Gavin.

The brother of Kristoph Gavin had said nothing. 'No comment' is not a new term, we've all heard it before. 'No comment' however, seems to extend in the man far more than just words. Like a tentacle, it's wrapped itself around the man and shrouded him in eluding slime. No matter how many journalist trail after him, their nose twitching like a bloodhound's, there's never anything to find. Not even Spark Brushel can dish out the dirt on him.

There are no breakdowns, no tears. No confidants. No anger, no drinking, no drugs. Not even a casually sad word for his brother.

It's as if there's nothing there to be found at all.

The reporters, they are not to be daunted.

As one journalist had put it : "It's impossible he doesn't feel anything. Daryan Crescend had just been incarcerated, and now it's his brother's turn. First his best friend since high school, and now his lifelong sibling. Surely something in there must stir?"

But if there is something that stirs, that something did not stir well. No one sees anything. No one hears anything. They seek a fire, they look for smoke – but how can you find something that is not there? The wood had been provided, dried and mattered to suit his arsonist's need. A match has been provided. But Klavier Gavin does not ignite.

On the day of the trial, Klavier went home. He got himself a vodka from his little bar, secluded in a corner in his living room. He puts it to half a glass, because anymore and he might be too intoxicated to work. He drinks it, and then he goes back to work – work, yes, even though no one expected him to show up anywhere within a hundred miles of the prosecutor's office. Klavier goes to his office, so flashy, with his black and maroon streaked carpets.

He throws open the window, places the glass on the table, and takes in the night air. He sings. There is a song in the air that he likes, the gentle breeze that caresses his face. He wonders.

No, it is not whether if his brother really did do it. It doesn't really matter. Oh goodness no – that's been established, hasn't it? The compass of truth had pointed towards him earlier that day, and there's nothing left to be argued anymore. Kristoph Gavin is guilty, and guilty he will remain.

No, what Klavier wonders, if the money goes to him. Kristoph's money that is. It's not that Klavier wants it, or if he even needed it, but this is the sort of thing that you go through logically. First, there is – when does he go? When will he be executed? Klavier will need to make way on his schedule on that day of course. His brother had been many things, but rude had never been one of them. Klavier must repay that favour.

He needs to feed the press' hounds too. Surely the kind and gentlemanly Klavier Gavin will not leave his brother on the scaffold, to die alone? But that would be simply cruel!

And if he cannot make it? Then he will send a very nice letter saying he approves of it.

Then there is the money. That Klavier couldn't care less about. Probably goes to him, or perhaps to some charity for cannibalism. If it goes to Klavier, Klavier will just send it off to Apollo Justice. It would serve more purpose there than here. And those momentos they always hand you in a box when someone dies? That can go there too. Klavier has limited space inside his office, and it's not for sentimental junk. He doesn't want to see things like photos of the two of them when they were eight or whatever.

That's just, to quote Daryan Crescend : Lame.

Klavier stirs the drink with a puzzled frown.

He doesn't get it. Why do people insist on patting his back? If every pat he's gotten is accumulated, his back would have broken by now. No. That smile? It is not plastic by choice. It is plastic by birth. Kristoph Gavin is going. This is neither good news nor bad news – it's just news. Would you care dearly if someone across the globe is dying at the moment you read this? Would you weep pearly tears of sorrow at the thought of the death of another being, whom you do not know, and do not wish to know?

No, he doesn't think so.

Klavier stirs the drink again.

He should get Kristoph a nice coffin, really. It's the least he can do for the man. He _is_ his brother. Surely that merits something? Yes, it does actually. It merits a very nice coffin, perhaps he'll even get a beautiful Gavinner styled one sponsored.

He puts down the glass, and jots down a note to himself.

Oh yes, and don't forget. One for Daryan too. He chuckled.

Lessee if he can get someone to sponsor the coffins too, mm? Then he'll save a couple of bucks for a pair of new earrings.


	4. Parody : Polyvinyl Chloride : Kla,Apo

**Prompt : **_That Stepford-Smiler!Klavier fill was awesome, but this Anon now craves the same with Apollo. Either the same kinda thing and/or a completely screwed up Apollo, who isn't emotionally attached to anything_._ Bonus points for him being BFFs with Stepford-Smiler!Klavier and talking non-chalantly about Kristoph and Daryan being executed as if they're like going to a birthday party or something._

A/N : Another request for a sequel sort of thing from the previous story. Saw it, since I was tracking the thing and well, decided to do it. Contains OOC characters, as per request._  
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* * *

_Polyvinyl Chloride_

"Mmmmm..." Apollo's eyes were closed, and he let out a throaty murmur of happiness. There's something about the wine that tastes excellent – it must be a good year – and it caresses his throat like nothing in the world would. It strokes, the way an ancient thing would stroke a well-stroked Persian cat, and Apollo purred like one.

"Now that's a good year," He sighed, removing the glass from his lips. "What year is it?" He asked Klavier. He's never been an expert in wine – God knows they cost too damned much.

"I don't know," Klavier purred right back, nursing his own glass. "It's Kristoph's wine, not mine."

Apollo took up the bottle, examined the label, but nothing registered. It's just a bunch of numbers on it that could as likely meant the year or the price – he wouldn't put it pass Kristoph to buy such expensive wine. Music floated into the room to accompany them, played on Kristoph's stereo too – which isn't surprise, considering that they're in his house.

They had decided to 'visit' his brother's house earlier, banding together after work. After all, the keys were theirs to take. For all practical purposes, Kristoph is gone. When you're somewhere where nobody sees, and nobody hears of, and nobody speaks of, chances are you'll be forgotten pretty soon and loped along with the dead. So they had taken the keys from the landlord, and had entered Kristoph's place to 'sample' a little of his wine. A little Saturday's night celebration for them, if you would.

"Ach, Herr Forehead." Klavier called out suddenly. Apollo opened blurry eyes and yawned at him.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind seeing if there's something more...Lively in my brother's CD collection? This is starting to sound like a eulogy. O mournful day, O weepy day."

"Do it yourself," Apollo retorted, neither moving from their places on Kristoph's armchair, too intoxicated to do anything.

The music is indeed depressing, and Apollo found himself humming to it. It's very fitting, he supposed. Dead man's music for a dead man's house. The music's those kind that Apollo never liked – those that sounded like they want to trail right out of the stereo, crawl somewhere, shrivel and die. Which is a lot different from Apollo's policy in life, yes? His policy in life is simple : The living lives. The dead dies. There should be a very big barrier in the middle that separates both highways.

This sir, is the way to the living. Don't belong here? Move then – nothing to be seen here. And if the dead lingers? Then there should be a very big razor in the middle of the street too, cutting up whatever is interrupting life's wonderful routine.

And speaking of dead...

"Ah yes, Klavier."

"Mm?" Blue eyes peered at him, one hand conducting invisible music.

"Do you want to go out and get a drink next Saturday or something? Somewhere more uplifting – a club or something. You're paying of course." He wiggled one eyebrow suggestively. "Seeing as I'm stone broke for now, I wouldn't get you pass the dirt on the carpet."

Klavier laughed, an artsy sort of laughter that while sincere, sounded like it had gone through a lot of practice back when Klavier's a teenager himself. "Of course, Herr Forehead. Would I deny that forehead anything? Of course not, except...Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"Next Saturday is their execution I believe."

Apollo blinked at him.

"Who?"

"Daryan and Kristoph's. Remember Daryan? He's the guy who looked like Elvis in my band. " He replied, swirling the wine around a little. "They're going to be executed next Saturday I believe – no idea, I must check my planner."

"Ah, all of them, together?" Apollo frowned. The frown isn't of disapproval of course – he approves. Oh yes, Apollo most whole-heartedly approves. You see, it's a matter of simple mathematics. If you execute them all at once, San Quentin the load of them into kingdom come together like a savage massacre, you actually save a lot of money. You can just dig a big big hole, and like stew, toss them all in and cover them up like a dirt smudge on your pants you want no one to see.

Apollo approves of this, you see. If the state has more money, then the state will stop sucking people like him dry. Why would dead people need pretty holes to lie in anyway? What, their blank, empty skulls are going to be claustrophobic? Disapprove of the cramped space? Apollo snorted at his own joke, chuckling merrily. Not likely, not likely at all.

"Good riddance to bad garbage anyway," Apollo announced. Klavier raised an eyebrow of his and grinned.

"Ah, so cruel, Apollo Justice. Don't be so cruel, ja? I'm sure they had been good for something."

"Well, yes." Apollo raised the wine glass thoughtfully and looked into it's maroon depths, so like the colour of Klavier's coat. "Yes, I suppose. You've got a point – Kristoph does collect good wine, if nothing else. Merits must be given," He announced the way someone would go 'Let them eat cake!'.

The both of them raised their glass.

"To bad garbage!"

The wine is downed.

Klavier sighed, flicking a blonde hair over his shoulder and purring at the wine again. "That really is good wine. I need to meet my brother before he swings, ja? I need to get him to tell me where he got it – it really is too excellent."

"If he tells you," Apollo shot back.

"Ach, Herr Forehead. You know no one can resist this charming smile. Incidentally, what do you plan to wear to their execution?"

Apollo frowned. He hadn't considered this – hadn't even remembered that Kristoph is scheduled to swing, actually. He's been so busy with work, taking over Kristoph's firm now that Kristoph is gone and no one wants the association to a criminal. Apollo took it, shined it, and now he's busy as ever – and he's not even sure that he's all that free next Saturday. Still, Klavier is his best friend these days. His brother and acquaintances are both swinging, so it's common courtesy that Apollo shows up, right?

"Not my best suit I think. San Quentin's so...Dusty. I wouldn't want to get dust on my shirt."

"Ah-ah!" Klavier wagged his finger at him. "But now you are not thinking like a fabulous rock star. The paparazzi, they will be there, will they not? You must dress your best for them."

"I wouldn't look good cover in dirt either way," Apollo joked. "And Kristoph will spit on me if he gets close enough."

"Don't stand out then. Just find somewhere nice, private, and clean to stand in. Then when the press comes, just dab at your eyes and pretend you are very sad, ja?"

Apollo tweaked one of his antennas thoughtfully. What a pain. Waste of his time – it's like going to the birthday bash of someone you don't even know. Hug a little, kiss a little. Did you miss him? Oh, I absolutely did.

"Okay," He allowed at last. "If I can keep clean, I'll attend then, I think."

"So kind, Herr Forehead. I know there was something I liked about you," Klavier purred. The clinked the glasses again, and downed the remains of the bottles, finished between the two of them.

"You'll have to bring me around early though," Apollo said thoughtfully. "We wouldn't want to miss the good spots."

"Ach yes, there is that. Tell me, Polly. Do you think he'll twitch?"

Apollo rolled his eyes. "He never stopped twitching while he was alive. Why wouldn't he in death?"

"No no, I meant his leg. Do you think it'll twitch?" Klavier asked, his tone exactly like a man at a market. Does this fish taste well, mister? Is it spongy enough? Is it fresh? Will it make good curry?

"Dunno."

"Let's bet then," Klavier suggested, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Five bucks says his right foot will twitch."

"Five bucks and a Nickel Samurai mug says his left foot will."

Klavier laughed. "Deal then."

The both of them rose, prodded by the silent cue – silent cue being that the wine is done and finished with.

There's no point lingering here after all, if the bottle is finished with. They aren't looking for another – that will come on another day, and they'll come together to sift through Kristoph's wine storage. They won't be looking for sentimental goods. In fact, Klavier had already found a buyer for the place, and is only waiting until the dead papers comes a-knocking and the wine is all moved somewhere else, that somewhere being his parlor.

"Let's go, Herr Forehead," He announced, pulling the shorter man with him lightly towards the door.

"Where to?"

"The electronics shop, silly Forehead. I need to get myself a concealable camcorder."

"Ah," Apollo mused. The both of them tumbled out of Kristoph's apartment, and before long, were making merry ways away. "Send me a copy of it when you're done please."

"Ach? To exercise those tear glands?

Apollo laughed. "Of course not! To cheer me up when I'm down!"


End file.
